IN THE QUEUE

After the nightmare events of the weekend, Anneke is reluctant at first to leave the shelter of the house. But when Margaret asks her to go to the village Post Office with an urgent package for Luke Davenport, ‘Next-day delivery, for signature, make sure,’ the opportunity for a change of scene is welcome.

It is a fine morning and she inhales the clean air of the countryside as she sets off down the tree-lined lane to the village. Half-way down the gentle incline, she pauses by a field gate to look at the view. Cows graze in the sunlit field and Anneke feels the breeze as it sweeps up from the creek, hinting at sea smells of salt and seaweed. For a moment, a gull’s cry reminds her of the North Sea beaches with their miles of sand dunes, where her grandmother used to play with her.

The sound of a vehicle on the road brings her back to the present and she turns to see a red Royal Mail van making its way up the hill. She returns the driver’s wave: she must hurry to catch the post. By the time she reaches the village, her spirits are somewhat restored.

 The Post Office is busy this Monday morning, and there is a buzz of conversation.

 ‘You mean Sheila’s died? Sounds like a merciful release.’

 ‘Yes, Sheila, and Treve too…’

‘That’s awful.’

‘How did he do it?’

Sylvia, behind the counter, pauses between customers and says, ‘And they’re going to have a festival up there next year. Geoff heard all about it in The Clipper last night. Jo Clemens was telling everybody.’ She breaks off to attend to a customer. Between the racks of magazines, greetings cards and brightly coloured buckets and spades, others take up the theme.

 ‘…Like Glastonbury…’

‘Could be a big blight on the village…’

‘She’s just an opportunist.’ 

‘Might be fun. I’ll go.’ 

‘What about all the traffic?’

‘The roads are bad enough…’

‘There’ll be drugs…litter…’

Let’s hope it’s worth it.’

‘What about the farm? Now Treve’s gone…’

‘Ring me later. I need know more’

The bell on the door jangles as Anneke enters, and for a moment the shop goes quiet, but not before Sylvia says, ‘Oh yes, Jo Clemens was full of it. They’re going to have a pop concert on the estate.’

A woman pays for a newspaper, turns to leave and gives Anneke a knowing smile, ‘Hello dear, all right?’ without waiting for a reply. While Anneke waits her turn, fragments reach her from across the shop.

‘We don’t want Glastonbury here…’

‘You’d think Mrs Clemens wouldn’t want that kind of thing in her garden…’

‘The village should be consulted,’

‘We’ve a right to know what’s going on.’ 

‘Anything could be true.’

Reaching the head of the queue, Anneke gives the package to Sylvia, who notes the London address and says, ‘Will that be first or second class?’

Anneke says, ‘Thank you. First class, guaranteed delivery tomorrow, please.’

From the back of the shop Jan the Post Mistress calls out, ‘We’re going to miss Treve, and poor Sheila. She always used to be in here when she was well.’

Sylvia says, ‘Very sad. I’m so sorry. And poor Mrs Clemens will miss them. I wonder if she’ll be able to get on with her plans now? A pop concert will wake the village up, won’t it?’

 Anneke just manages to say, ‘I don’t know about any plans.’

 ‘Well, it sounds very exciting,’ pursues Sylvia. ‘That will be six pounds sixty.’

Anneke is waiting for the receipt when she hears the doorbell jangle again, and a man’s voice behind her says, ‘Morning all, how are we today? Heard the news? We’re having a pop festival. It was all over the pub last night. Be good for your business.’

Jan calls through from the back room, ‘Now then, we don’t gossip in here, do we?’ and Sylvia starts to say, ‘Well, Geoff heard all about it…’ and breaks off when she sees the expression on Anneke’s face.

Anneke leaves without saying goodbye. Her vision is blurred by tears and she stumbles as she crosses the threshold. Outside, she grabs at an old bicycle stand by the door, for support.

Across the road, John is parking the Land Rover. He hurries across and takes her arm.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, well, no. They are all talking in there.’

‘About Treve and Sheila?’

‘Yes. And they are saying there is going to be a festival, and they asked me about it, and I didn’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t you worry. They’re probably getting it all wrong. I’ll speak to Mrs C about it. I’ve only come down to buy dog food for Jess, so if you wait while I pop into the shop, I’ll drive you up the hill.’

Anneke nods, grateful for his kindness. He continues, ‘Right. Then we’ll go up to the house, and I’ll see if I can have a word with Mrs C.’

Inside the Land Rover, Anneke dabs at her eyes and pushes her hair off her face. The vehicle smells comfortingly of dog, and Anneke realises that Jess is in the back. ‘Hello,’ she says, and Jess wags her tail. When John returns he gives Anneke a reassuring smile.

‘It’s a gossip shop in there, but don’t you be worrying.’

Anneke feels calmer now and John seems thoughtful as he drives. It is a long time since Anneke has been alone with a man, and she studies his hands on the steering wheel; sun-browned, capable hands, strong and reassuring in their firmness. Not like Wim’s hands, which were pale from working long hours in the hospital. He left her to take up a new post in Utrecht. The memory of it makes her throat tighten but she shakes it off. John’s attention is focused on the narrow winding lane, and she glances at him in profile, the nose attractively not quite straight. His nut-brown hair would be unruly if it were not trimmed.

John parks by the back of the house, and says, ‘Put the kettle on. I’ll see if I can find Mrs C.’

Inside, Anneke hums to herself as the aroma of fresh coffee wafts around the kitchen. She finds a packet of chocolate biscuits which John might like, sets them on a plate, and begins to unload the dishwasher, a reassuringly repetitive chore. At length John returns and sits at the kitchen table while Anneke pours a generous mug for him and a smaller one for herself.

‘I’ve tried to help her understand that now the gossips are talking she needs to do something. Either say it’s a load of rubbish, which it isn’t, or let people know what’s happening – or at least say something to stop the gossip. She’s going to talk to Luke Davenport.’

Anneke’s eyes are fixed on him. He pauses to take a biscuit. ‘She’s been trying to keep this estate going for years. But houses like this eat money. She won’t even let me get someone in to tackle the fungus on the old cedar tree – because of the cost. She sees a chance to make a decent sum and she’s not going to give up now.’

Anneke nods to show that she understands, and John’s shoulders relax.

Chapter 7